"Being an artist means forever healing your own wounds and at the same time endlessly exposing them." Annette Messager
Creating is my life, so it's only natural that I include you in the very bitter sip of life that I am drinking. My Mom died. Quite unexpectedly she had a stroke. Everyone dies, I know that. I can't believe she's in a better place because here was pretty wonderful and we all loved her hard. She was the very first collector of my work, when it was not very good at all. Going to her home is an odd feeling for me because she has my art dolls going back to my first ones in 2009 and creeping forward. She displayed them proudly even if they weren't my best and she always insisted on buying them instead of letting me just giving them to her. She was a very good Mom. My grief is deep and profound.
My Mom is interwoven into the tapestry that is me. She was my first home and my first love. She inspired magic. The fairies loved her. She encouraged my children to leave bits of cake in the garden for the them. I imagine they wept for her passing because the world has a lot less Pixie Dust now. Or maybe they welcomed her to their land? It is my hope that in the days ahead I am able to hold tight to the threads of magic my Mom inspired and make sure my children have her woven into their tapestry.
The last piece I shared with my Mom was my bearded girl child, I call her Phillamane. This piece is one of my favorites as it celebrates the divine magical individuality in each of us.
My bearded girl child is a compilation of many elements and curiosities. I hand mixed the palette for her, concocting hues from a Victorian dream, where clouds are lavender and cotton candy tastes like violet water. Her garments are all antique and vintage textiles, which is a passion of mine. The simple juxtaposition of burlap and ancient lace feels perfectly fitting. She will be offered at Bewitching Peddler's of Halloween in the Fall.